Her daughter had only been allowed to stay because Madam Wei had begged the madam on her knees until her forehead was raw and bleeding. The child was pretty, and if no one bought them out soon, the madam might decide to train the daughter for the trade too.
But a woman from the pleasure house — her whole life was bound to that house. Some found a new life upon leaving; others fell into a different kind of abyss. They were treated like rats in the street, despised by everyone — men looked down on them, and women and gers loathed them even more.
The wealthy men who wanted to buy her out only intended to keep her for a few years of amusement. Once their interest faded, she and her daughter would likely be left with nothing. That's why she'd refused all previous offers.
Old Man Zhang had initially opposed the match too, but he had no choice — he only had one son — so in the end, he relented.
For a while, the matter was kept secret. No one in the area had the spare silver to travel to a neighboring county just to dig up gossip about someone's daughter-in-law. But Madam Wei had once entertained Chu family clients during her time in the pleasure house. When the Chu family spread word of her background, the Zhang family could no longer get by in Shunan — every time they stepped outside, they were met with pointing fingers and malicious gossip.
Now that they knew Fang Zichen was the very prefect who was hiring, the Zhang family barely dared to breathe. The truth couldn't be hidden, and they had no idea whether he would find it objectionable or taboo. Fearing that he might later learn of it from others and charge them with deception, Old Man Zhang decided to come clean.
Fang Zichen waved his hand and said it didn't matter.
So what if she'd come from a brothel? She'd left that life behind — what more was there to say? Even if she hadn't, he wouldn't have minded.
He was hiring people to work, not for anything else.
Old Man Zhang and Madam Wei both breathed sighs of relief at his response.
When they returned, Fang Zichen first tested the goods — he had the Zhang father and son make some paper for him to inspect, and sent Zhang Quan with some men to assist and learn the ropes.
Zhang Fan understood perfectly well — "assist and learn" was really just supervision. Otherwise, he could have passed off store-bought paper as his own work, and Fang Zichen would never know.
If the craftsmanship was good, they could stay; if not, they'd have to go back where they came from.
It wasn't that Fang Zichen was ruthless — papermaking required real skill. If the sheets came out an inch thick or as thin as a dragonfly's wing with uneven thickness, how was he supposed to sell that?
When Zhao Ger learned that his husband had found craftsmen, he was overjoyed. The paper mill had been finished for some time, and the villagers were all watching and waiting. If the paper mill failed to get off the ground, Zhao Ger wasn't worried about what the villagers would think — he was worried that his husband would agonize over the wasted silver and lie awake night after night.
If he couldn't sleep well at night, how was he supposed to get any "rest" with his husband?
Zhao Ger couldn't let that happen to his husband.
He had someone clean out a room and help the Zhang family settle in.
For the skill test, all the necessary materials had already been prepared. Fang Zichen skipped all the other steps and just watched Zhang Fan scoop the paper pulp. Zhang Fan's technique was solid — the sheets came out with even, moderate thickness. Fang Zichen was very pleased.
Zhang Fan secretly exhaled in relief. This was the only trade he knew. If the business didn't work out, he could have found someplace else to open a shop and try a different trade—but he didn't know how to do anything else. Farming was even more out of his depth. Being able to return to his old craft made him genuinely happy. More importantly, they finally had a place to settle. The paper mill was in a good spot — the villagers knew he was a master craftsman hired by the prefect, and they were kind and welcoming to his family. They'd arrived with nothing, and after coming by to see the commotion, they said:
"We can't spare you oil or salt, but if you need vegetables, just pick them from our fields — no need to go all the way to town for that."
Life in the village was very different from life in town. In town, people shut their doors and kept to themselves. But there, strolling through the village, everyone—whether they knew the family or not—would smile and ask if they had eaten. Zhang Fan didn't feel stifled at all.
Were the villagers this generous with everyone?
Certainly not — they had no obligation to be.
But Zhang Fan could make paper. Only with him here could the paper mill start production — and only then would there be jobs!
If he left and the paper mill never opened, the villagers would have no work.
Zhang Fan understood that well enough. His family was housed in the rooms next to the paper mill. If they wanted to cook for themselves, they could have a kitchen built outside later; otherwise, they could eat at the paper mill.
Fang Zichen handed him a contract. Zhang Fan was puzzled — he looked it over and saw it was some kind of confidentiality agreement.
He made his living by this craft—of course he wouldn't go around telling outsiders. So why did he need to put his thumbprint on it?
"Lord, what is this?"
Fang Zichen explained: "The materials I use for paper are different from what you're used to. And I'm making both toilet paper and xuan paper. You only get to stay if you sign."
In Da Xia, paper was typically made from paper mulberry bark — stripped, sun-dried, soaked until soft, then boiled and pounded. The beaten pulp was mixed with water and a homemade binder, stirred evenly, and then scooped into sheets.
The Zhang family made paper the exact same way. Hearing this, they were taken aback — you could make paper from other things? Zhang Fan had checked around, and even the Chu family used the same old method. His mind went to the mountain of rice straw piled up in the warehouse, and then to the chemical fertilizer and cement roads that everyone in the village had been talking about lately...
He wanted to sign. But the contract stipulated that if he leaked any secrets, he wouldn't just have to pay compensation — he'd face twenty years in prison. If he passed the secrets to relatives or descendants to enrich themselves, and it was discovered, those relatives and descendants would also go to prison.
It was harsh.
But it was also reasonable. Rice straw was cheap — if it could really be used to make paper, that would be enormously profitable. Who wouldn't be tempted? Why not keep it for yourself? Even if he was bound by the contract, he could pass the knowledge to his sons and build a future for generations to come.
Plenty of people would betray others for money.
Zhang Fan said: "Let me go back and discuss this with my family first."
"Go ahead."
Zhang Fan left and returned quickly, having signed the contract.
Fang Zichen patted his shoulder: "You're a smart man."
Zhang Fan felt flattered.
With the master craftsman secured, the paper mill could finally start hiring.
Zhao Ger would handle that. Fang Zichen and Zhang Fan threw themselves headfirst into the great papermaking enterprise.
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